The Garden
by pretend-to-care
Summary: Following Loki's "death", Thor finds himself confused as to whether or not he ever really knew his brother at all. So he visits the one place that was all Loki's... Threeshot. Updates to come as I finish some editing. Please review and do enjoy.
1. Odin

**Disclaimer: Thor, Loki, Odin, Frigga, and all other Asgardians do not belong to me. I promise I did not originate Norse mythology, or Marvel. Or sliced bread.**

**A/N: I make a lot of assumptions here as to what Asgard was like following Loki's untimely tumble off the Bifrost. I label that my prerogative as a fic writer, but anyone that's got a better knowledge of canon than me - I welcome suggestions. My writing has improved by massive leaps and bounds on this fic alone and I'm really proud of it. Reviews would be so appreciated. **

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><p>Asgard was celebrating.<p>

Loki was dead.

Loki, the misfit. The orphaned baby from a lesser race. The pity child. An example of the Allfather's boundless charity. Prince Loki, the inferior. The silent one. The pale, odd young man who liked spiders. King Loki, the tyrant. The traitor who showed his true colors at last, with his father and brother debilitated at his hand. The one who created chaos during his blessedly short reign. The one who destroyed the Bifrost, one of the realm's most precious possessions.

Asgard was celebrating.

Loki was dead.

Thor did not understand.

He had escaped the proceedings as soon as he could. The garish colors and excess of wine and laughter made him sick. He saw his father, basking in congratulations for finally having seen the light. He saw his mother, her face stricken, smiling bleakly at the guests. He had seen enough.

Shaking off his own crowd of adoring subjects, he had left the great hall and wandered through grand golden hallways until he came to the garden. He had never spent much time there. He preferred the training grounds or the wilderness out past the palace gates. But from his chamber windows he had often looked out and seen Loki in the garden; sometimes with Frigga, more frequently alone. He never seemed to be doing much of anything, he was simply there. Walking slowly along the flagstone pathways. Staring into the pond. Stroking flower petals with his long, white fingers. So Thor came to the garden, to walk the flagstone pathways and stare into the pond and stroke the flower petals and in some way, draw closer to his brother. To Loki.

Loki was dead.

Thor did not understand.

He had followed every pathway in all their roundabout loops, inhaling the sweet scent of perfect flowers and cool evening air. He had stood beneath every tree and looked up into the branches. He had remained silent and motionless and listened to the soft hum of insects and the tinkling fountain in the far corner. Yet despite his best efforts, the flowers were only flowers and the trees were just trees and the insects were biting his bare skin. The garden was nothing but a garden, a coalition of pretty plants that had held some secret, mysterious fascination for his brother. Frustrated, Thor had returned to the pond, where he sank onto the stone bench situated beneath the supple, bending branches of a tree with delicate pink, tear-shaped leaves.

He watched the reflection of Asgard's largest moon ripple with the breeze. His skin prickled as the tree whispered gently above him. The scene was so perfect and peaceful that Thor, overwhelmed with emotion like he had never imagined, bowed his great head and let his tears slide down his nose and fall onto his arms.

Loki was dead.

Thor did not—perhaps could not—understand.

"You are being missed." His father's deep, mountainous voice shook the peace away like dew slipping from the grass. Thor lifted his head and looked over at Odin, standing tall and broad and regal in the moonlight. He was displeased, Thor could read it in the angle of his lips and the lines across his brow. "We are celebrating your return."

"You are celebrating his death," he retorted. Odin said nothing. Thor looked away. "Is this how we honor the passing of family?"

Odin lifted his chin and looked down his nose at his elder son. "Loki was not family."

Thor turned to his father, appalled. "Not family?"

"Not by blood," was Odin's stern reply.

"And blood is all that matters?"

Odin raised his gaze to the crown of the pink tree. "That is what much of Asgard believes."

"And you, Father?" Thor's tone was insolent. "What do you believe?"

Odin's gaze locked on Thor's and for the briefest moment, Thor saw distinct and distinguished regret in the Allfather's remaining eye. Regret for what, Thor couldn't say. Then he blinked and turned away and it vanished.

"Why are you out here, Thor?" Odin approached him slowly. "There is music inside, and dancing, and food, and people who care about you."

"I care about him," Thor said, "and this is where he spent his time." His impudence weighted the words.

From the corner of his eye, Thor watched his father appraise the nearest foliage. He could not make out the expression he wore, and it could have been anything—sorrow, distaste, bemusement. The thought occurred to him that he had little real knowledge of Odin's opinions concerning Loki. Momentarily forgetting the animosity between them, he turned and put his question into the most frank, most honest words he could.

"Allfather…what do you feel?"

Odin stared at the flagstones and did not answer for a long time. Finally, when he spoke, Thor had to lean closer to make out the words.

"When I found him…I could hardly see him for the blood on my face. I had lost my eye. My armor was coated with the blood of his people. I was carrying a spear six times his length. I was fearsome to look at, I know, and yet…." Odin paused to swallow. "And yet…he was not afraid. It was not that he failed to understand, for I could see such comprehension in his eyes…but that he was prepared to follow his kinsmen in death. He expected to feel my blade and he did not cry and he did not take his eyes off my face."

The raw emotion in his rough voice made an impression on Thor. He had not expected or even hoped to hear such an honest account. "Why did you take him?" he asked softly.

Odin shook his head. "Could I have left him?"

"Yes."

"No. No, because he had done nothing wrong. Because if I were to abandon him there, _I_ would be doing wrong. Because I…I was taken by his courage. I was sick with the smell of gore and the shriek of metal was ringing in my ears and I had seen so much death that day. I could not watch another life be snuffed at my hands, and one so new. I was tired of war. And he was there, orphaned and alone, a blessing to both races, for I knew he had the potential to bridge the terrible chasm between us."

Odin fell silent and Thor did not dare interrupt what he sensed were deep, deep thoughts. At last, the Allfather looked up, and with his eyes Thor followed the streaks of tears into his beard.

"You would do well to return to the celebration," Odin said, and the emotion had drained from his voice, leaving it dry and coarse. "Your subjects desire to see you." He retreated toward the palace, back the way he had come, and in that moment Thor had never felt nearer to his father. He had never stopped to consider how that scene in the temple on Jotunheim must have played out, and if what his father said was true, then it had moved him. He wondered how much of it Loki knew. Had known.

Loki was dead.

With a heavyhearted sigh, Thor returned his attention to the pond, forced to admit that he still did not understand.

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><p><strong>Second and third parts coming within the next few days. I hope you enjoyed this first bit. <strong>

**Also, my reasoning behind Loki enjoying the garden so much - the fact that there is nothing colorful or pretty or _alive _on Jotunheim made me wonder if Loki, despite having no idea of his origins, felt a certain inexplicable fascination with the beauty of Asgard's flora. I like that idea. SO I WROTE A FIC. That's all.**


	2. Frigga

**Disclaimer: Thor, Frigga, Odin, Loki, etc., do not belong to me. And if I said they did I'm sure they would plague me with tiny frogs or something. **

**A/N: This one is a little shorter than the previous chapter but ah well. Plenty of angst. ANGST. **

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><p>Looking around the garden, Thor burned to know what Loki had seen in this place. An escape from the Allfather, perhaps, for the image of Odin's hulking figure amid the wavering stems and tiny blossoms was strange to Thor. He realized he had never once seen his father set foot in the garden. An escape from Asgard altogether seemed more likely. The emotions being expressed within the palace even now were merely extensions of the sentiment all of Asgard had shared since Loki's arrival: that he did not belong, that he would never belong, and that even the Allfather was foolish to think he could make the boy something he was not.<p>

Adding to Odin's shame was the fact that Loki had taken to Frigga more than Odin; the Allfather's greatest act of charity corrupted by a faulty fatherly relationship. Thor was the favorite, clearly his father's son; the one to hunt and fight and receive the praise and pride in his father's eyes. Guiltily, Thor wondered now if it was his fault, at least in part—if he had left Loki no room in his father's heart. Loki never spent his time hunting or fighting. He spent his time in gardens.

Thor's head sank into his hands. He had never before noticed the vast differences between himself and his brother. They were simply lighter and darker. Louder and softer. Older and younger, but always brothers. Always comrades. Now, Thor felt worlds apart from Loki. Like they had always been worlds apart, and not only because—as he now knew—Loki belonged to a different race. He felt as though they had always been different, completely different, and Loki knew it and Odin knew it and Frigga knew it and all of Asgard knew it. Except himself. Except Thor. He was a fool. He was ashamed.

Moreover, he was angry at his people: for the inherent mistrust of the younger prince that bordered on utter disrespect, thinly concealed out of fear of the Allfather's rage—or worse, Frigga's. For the way they had held his mysterious origins over his head like a suspended sentence as he passed through childhood. For the way they feasted over his demise, still wearing the blinders that kept them from seeing anything but the negative facets of his character. He clenched his fists on his lap. Cottony clouds gathered in thick, dark, ominous pillars around the moon, a physical manifestation of his fury.

A hand on his shoulder nearly sent him out of his skin. He looked up into the face of his mother, lustrous and beautiful in the moonlight, a sad smile on her lips. "I didn't mean to startle you," she said softly. "May I sit down?"

Thor nodded and moved to make room. Frigga took to the bench beside him, adjusting her skirt. "He loved this garden," she murmured, more to herself than to Thor. She gazed out over the trees and flowers and Thor watched her. Her hands were folded in her lap. She looked fatigued, but her expression was serene, and Thor assumed she was grateful to be far from the obscene reveling in the great hall. Frigga turned suddenly and caught him watching, and she smiled. "Moonlight makes everything beautiful, my son." When he didn't reply, she reached out and took his hand, meshing her fingers with his. "Speak your mind, Thor."

He opened his mouth, then reluctantly shut it again. "I should not…."

Frigga squeezed his hand. "Speak."

Thor hesitated, but the sentiments were too strong to suppress. "It's barbaric," he blurted. His voice was loud in the hushed garden. The insects fell silent. Frigga waited patiently for him to continue, and when he spoke his voice was tremulous. "They celebrate. All of them. And he's dead." Thor's chest heaved with emotion. "How can they not see…they don't see…."

"Oh, my son." Frigga stroked his arm. "It is not something that they want to see."

"They didn't know him. I—" Thor swallowed and haltingly voiced the dark thought that still plagued his mind. "I…didn't know him."

Frigga reached up and touched his face, her eyes alight with empathy. Of anyone, Thor was certain she could relate the most to his plight. "You did know him. You knew things about him that even I was not privy to."

"But how?" Thor placed his large, rough hand over hers. "How, with such differences between us?"

"How?" Frigga smiled. "Because he was your brother. The two of you were inseparable from the time he came here. He loved you dearly, Thor."

Tears were obscuring Thor's vision. The garden was a silvery, moonlit blur. "Then how could he do such a thing?" he whispered, blinking hard. His voice was fraught with anger and pain.

Frigga did not offer an immediate answer, and when Thor shot her a questioning glance, he found her looking out over the garden with open sorrow in her face. He was reminded that he was not the only one suffering.

"Your father came home without his eye, carrying a Jotun baby in his arms," she said at last. "I almost fainted. He proposed his…singularly outrageous plan to me, but I barely heard him. I was tending to the little one…." She sighed and looked at him. "He had high opinions of you. He would tell me of your escapades…he enjoyed having an elder brother. Until it became a matter of politics, of course…."

Frigga heaved a sigh and gave a miniscule shake of her head. "I do not know the cause of his actions. I do not expect I ever shall." She looked up at him and her eyes were sparkling with tears, and yet she smiled. "But rest assured, my son, that your brother loved you. He admired you. You did much more for him than any of us." She took his chin and said in an insistent whisper, "Indeed he loved you."

In a swift, fluid motion, Frigga rose from the bench and, pressing a kiss to Thor's brow, swept off along the pathway. Thor felt her tears on his forehead. He saw his brother through her eyes—something innocent and uncorrupted, becoming more and more a part of their family as the blurry memories of his former identity faded, becoming more and more an outcast as he proved himself much more devious than a prince ought to be, a captive of his natural instinct and disposition. How he must have suffered, sensing a discrepancy yet unable to determine exactly why he didn't fit.

And Thor had been oblivious to all of it.

Once more, he buried his face in his hands.

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><p><strong>Again, reviews would be much appreciated. ~ Last part coming within a day or two. <strong>


	3. Loki

**Disclaimer: Thor, Loki, and all of Asgard do not belong to me. I tried to fit them in my closet, but it didn't work out for either of us. **

**A/N: Last installment, and I'm afraid it's really short. I extended it where I could, but eventually I felt like I just couldn't squeeze any more out of it. I hope it lives up to expectations and I would love a final review! **

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><p>Again, Thor found himself alone in the garden. The insects had picked up their symphony right where they left off. A branch from the willowy tree behind him brushed against Thor's arm in the breeze. He took a hold of it and stripped away a handful of the silky pink leaves. One at a time, he dropped them into the pool, watching them float across the rippling moon. When there was but one leaf remaining, he brought it near to his face and examined it closely, rubbing it between his fingers, scrutinizing the tiny veins. It was exquisite like he had never expected.<p>

Thor closed the leaf in his hand and thought of his brother. An outsider among Asgardians, yet so deprived of his true heritage that he could not hope to identify with the frost giants. A misfit no matter where he dwelt. How alone Loki must have felt, Thor reflected. He was embarrassed to find that he could scarcely imagine life without his entire realm of friends. He admired his brother's resilience. Thor hoped that maybe he had made Loki's private burden even a little easier to bear, whether he knew it or not.

He had been so loved, by Thor, by Frigga. By Odin, even. Solemn and soft-spoken though he may have been, Thor recalled his brother's sincere smile, rare though it was. He remembered his laugh, his real, unbridled laugh; the way it started timidly in his throat and built and built until he and Thor were clasping each other's arms and staggering in their mirth. Loki only ever laughed that way with Thor.

Perhaps he had indeed been happy here. Despite his differences, despite Thor's monopoly of their father's attentions, despite his unshakeable label as the second son, perhaps he had found something he deemed valuable.

Thor pictured Loki walking through the garden, alone with his thoughts, forgetting the pressures of life as a royal, life as a second son, simply taking time to marvel at the beauty and uniqueness of each petal and every leaf. Each one was remarkable. Loki was remarkable.

Thor dropped the last leaf into the pond and—finally—felt that maybe he understood why Loki loved the garden. He felt a certain closeness to his brother that he had not enjoyed in a long, long time.

"I see, brother," he whispered. "I see."

He was aware that he was missing bits of the story, but they were bits he did not need to here. He no longer wanted to know what had motivated Loki to his actions. He did not need to learn what had at last caused him to snap. He buried the question in the back of his mind and focused on this new image of his brother. Briefly, he wished he could share it with his people, but no. No, he would rather protect his brother's memory from their suspicion. Loki would belong, and always had belonged, to Thor.

With a warm sense of fulfillment, Thor rose from the bench and began moving down the pathway, imagining what Loki's thoughts on each plant would have been. It was a new experience, a perspective which he thoroughly enjoyed.

Thor found he was content.

He understood.

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><p><strong>There you have it. This will make things awkward when Loki wages war on Midgard. Oh well! I hope you've enjoyed the fic and again, reviews would be fantastic. Thank you for reading!<strong>


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